


not waving but drowning

by Verbyna



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Addiction, Character Study, Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4469714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbyna/pseuds/Verbyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack says, “I was alone,” Kent doesn’t talk about the times he carried Jack back to bed and made sure he was on his side so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit in the night. He says, “I’m glad you’re clean.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	not waving but drowning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dear_monday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_monday/gifts).



> Many thanks to the hockey twitcrew for encouraging my angsty CP headcanon habit, to Hayley (dear_monday) for the prompt and the feedback, and to Jenny (teaboytoaliens) for the read-through. Title from the poem by Stevie Smith: _I was much too far out all my life / And not waving but drowning._
> 
> Disclaimer: I love Jack Zimmermann, but this is written from Kent's POV, so it's not always kind to him. Also, if you find descriptions of addiction triggering, now's a good time to hit the Back button.

Jack’s looking at him like he doesn’t even recognize him. Kent doesn’t recognize himself, either - his own dry mouth, the pain in his back, his hands clenched in Jack’s lapels, the way his eyes hurt so much that it’s making his whole head hurt. He doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s got Jack trapped and listening and looking at him like that.

He pushes Jack away and uses the momentum to back up a few steps.

The draft starts in three hours. He keeps walking backwards, knocking into both their suitcases and an armchair, until he reaches the door, then he gets out and speed-walks down the hallway.

He looks immaculate in the elevator mirror. His family is waiting downstairs. He wants to throw up, but he makes it.

Fuck Jack. Fuck Jack and his sad eyes and the way he said _I don’t think I can do this_ right when Kent was finally ready for it.

 

*

 

The spring comes back to him in flashes: Jack’s laughing, and Kent gets up and hugs his mom. Jack’s putting his hand in Kent’s pocket, and Kent walks to the stage. Jack’s wiping down the backseat of Kent’s car with pages from a newspaper with their faces blown up in the sports section, and Kent pulls on his new jersey that clashes with his tie.

He didn’t expect to go to the Aces.

He should’ve had a couple more minutes to get ready, but Jack’s not here and Jack’s parents left ten minutes ago. Kent smiles at the cameras like he smiled at Jack last week, like they have a secret that’s gonna change their lives, and makes himself enjoy the moment.

It’s not stolen if Jack gave it to him.

 

*

 

Back in March, Jack got a new phone. His only contacts were Kent, his parents, and his agent. He never called or texted Kent, since they were always together, but Kent still got a thrill from it - there was the top prospect, putting him first (or fourth at most). There he was, giving Kent his phone to hold for the day, like he was a filter for the press and the pressure.

Kent cracked the case while Jack was blowing him against the wall of their room. It fell out of his pocket with Bob Zimmermann’s name flashing on the screen, but no one was around to see where Jack’s priorities were.

Kent never thought he’d come first anywhere else.

 

*

 

Kent’s mom came up to Montreal a day early to do some sightseeing. Kent was with her for a few hours, but he went back to the hotel to check on Jack when her excitement got to be too much. He’s excited, too, but not like the other prospects or their families.

They’ve been working themselves up to this for so long that he just wants it to be over.

He found Jack drunk in the bathroom. He didn’t look like he’d suffocate, and there was plenty of time to sober up before the cameras would descend, so Kent took a couple of Jack’s pills, pocketed three for later, and went to sleep. He’d have to find another way to get meds once Jack went to Nevada.

They’ve done so many player profiles lately. None of them mentioned how exhausted they are. They want to win, but their bodies can’t tell fight and flight apart. Kent keeps fighting, and Jack keeps fighting, and any decent therapist would tell them to quit.

There’s nowhere to run except forward, so Kent pockets the pills Jack’s not supposed to have and goes to bed. Jack wakes him up when he crawls under the covers later. They haven’t really talked in weeks.

 

*

 

Here’s another thing he didn’t expect: when his name gets called up first in the 2009 draft, his stomach growls so hard they can hear it over the mic. He’s been trying to get Jack to eat. He forgot to eat around it.

 

*

 

He took two pills before he and his mom were seated, so he’s pretty high when he finds out he’s going to Vegas instead of Jack.

There should be an official announcement that Jack’s withdrawn from the draft. It should be more than three empty seats to Kent’s left and his numb hands telling him he took too much.

He’ll learn to be thankful for it, but that comes later. He’ll learn to prop himself up without meds, without Jack, but he’s eighteen and these cameras weren’t expecting him. He was supposed to have a couple more minutes. He was supposed to be proud of Jack before he was proud of himself.

 

*

 

When he finds out what happened, his agent and his mom are both there. Jack’s mom calls him, crying, and tells him where Jack is.

It takes him three hours to emote enough to be scared for Jack, and by then it’s too late. Visiting hours are over. Kent’s schedule is set for the next two weeks, and he’s not allowed to see Jack anyway, because rules are different for rehab.

It took them most of a year to learn how to be alone together. Jack gets him in a way no one else bothered to learn, one mess to another; it’s almost impossible to imagine life without him.

At first, Kent thinks of Jack as if he died.

He sees him everywhere.

 

*

 

Jack’s mom tells Kent that Jack’s therapist referred to Kent as a trigger. Kent’s first thought is, “that’s him.”

He was the gun to Jack’s temple, but he was also the safety. He held Jack’s hand to keep it away from the easy way out. He was the one who told Jack that he gets to be fucked up, and he was the one who told him he has to act like he’s fine. He got Jack drunk and sedated and in bed on time. He kissed Jack when Jack’s mouth was slack and brought him back, and he’s not the trigger here.

He’s a lot of things, but it’s not his fault that Jack learned to rely on Kent. 

If he hadn’t stolen those pills, Jack would be dead. He wouldn’t have needed them if Jack hadn’t kept him up for weeks. Kent doesn’t get a nice retreat to get cleaned up, and he wants to get high every time he thinks about Jack, and he’s _not_ the fucking trigger here.

He didn’t ask to be the safety, either.

 

*

 

By the time he sees Jack again, he wears an A and Vegas almost feels like home. He’s slept with so many people that he can barely remember what it was like to have Jack touching him, but it only takes Jack touching his arm for it all to come back to him.

Jack’s smaller. It makes sense; he hasn’t worked out as hard in rehab, and he’s been coaching since he got out. He’s Kent’s size now, and his hands are too big when he reaches for Kent like he might be turned away.

Kent doesn’t know why he’s laughing. He’s not happy, and relief shouldn’t be this bitter. 

They’re in a dorm kitchen and there’s water damage on the walls, and all Kent wants to do is pull this smaller Jack into his lap to make sure he’s still there, but he hasn’t forgotten that he’s a trigger now. He asks Jack if he’s happy instead, since he knows better than to ask him if he’s fine.

“I’m getting there,” Jack says. “You?”

“Sure.”

 

*

 

They had five days at Jack’s dad’s cabin before the draft. They didn’t see anyone else, and Kent lost track of time between swimming in the lake and jumping into bed still dripping water all over Jack and the covers.

He wasn’t saying goodbye. He’s not saying goodbye now, reliving it with Jack sitting thin and healthy across the table, but it feels like a last time.

Kent was raised Catholic. He hasn’t been to church since he was a kid, but he remembers the prayers enough to know when he’s saying them wrong. They’re not supposed to be selfish. They’re not supposed to be this empty pleading for someone to keep him around, this bargaining for more time when their time is already over.

The guilt is familiar.

When Jack says, “I was alone,” Kent doesn’t talk about the times he carried Jack back to bed and made sure he was on his side so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit in the night. He says, “I’m glad you’re clean.”

The only one who was alone was Kent. Jack checked out long before he was checked in.

 

*

 

The first thing Kent tells his therapist, after that visit to the Haus, is that he hasn’t been counting days and years since he got clean. He carried the last pill from Jack’s stash like a talisman and he can’t remember when he actually took it.

She tells him he _was_ probably a trigger, that he’s a recovering addict. That it’s impressive he could keep up with the demands of his job while going cold turkey. He doesn’t think that’s the impressive part, but he thanks and pays her.

 

*

 

All the things he told Jack were true. He’d put in a good word for him with the GMs. He’d help him make his dad proud. He’d keep Jack’s secrets if Jack told him anything, but they’re both addicts, and it was never Kent’s chemicals that fucked him up. It was always Jack.

He can’t tell her everything he told Jack. He can’t tell anyone. It’s like old times, almost: Jack’s seen him at his worst, and he’s still keeping him around. Kent doesn’t even have to apologize. Jack’s told him worse when he was messed up.

 

*

 

He used to think they’d have all the time in the world. Every day was the same, and they were never apart for more than a few minutes, and it felt like it would never end. The draft was another life. Their coaches never mentioned the future, only the next game.

Kent’s not one for talking about his feelings. That was more Jack’s thing, as long as no one interrupted to ask about anything specific. 

He doesn’t know how to talk about Jack.

He can’t say “I wish my hands were on him” without someone thinking it’s sexual or violent, like he’d throttle or jerk Jack off given half a chance. He lived for two years with his hands on Jack and they only fucked twice. They only fought once. Kent loved Jack through all of it.

He misses Jack’s cotton shirts under his fingers. He misses Jack’s weight, the way he made room for himself in Kent’s personal space without asking for permission. He’s had dreams about Jack’s hair, his arms, the pressure on Kent’s helmet when Jack kissed it for a celly. 

Jack used to tape Kent’s stick before every game. They’d sit shoulder to shoulder, leaning into each other on the wooden bench, and Kent would watch Jack holding his stick and feel lucky. He was, but he should’ve known better.

Jack was practically unconscious when Kent left the room in Montreal, but the last thing he said was, “I couldn’t have done this if you were gonna stick around.”

 

*

 

Kent’s been in something like love for eight years. He knows right away when Jack falls for that kid on his college team. His therapist would say it’s a sign of personal growth when he steps aside, but it’s only a sign of how well he knows Jack.

Being wanted by him, being needed by him, is like finding a bruise that you can’t remember getting. You keep people from touching it. You wait it out. You want it to hurt more, because that’s the only way you know it’s still there.

He hopes Bittle knows what he’s getting into.


End file.
